Accidental Magic
by AJ Freas
Summary: "It's… it's Harry! Severus, he's hurt. I need your help." There was only one Harry that the two of us could possibly have in common. My eyes closed tightly until I could swear I saw stars dancing before my eyelids. Why did I answer the bloody telephone? Random one-shot, AU, Pre-Hogwarts


The early evening was settling over the horizon with grand colors of reds and gold. They're stupid Gryffindor colors, but in the grand scheme of a perfect sunset they worked well together… I suppose. It wasn't as if I was watching said sunset from my seat in what was once my childhood home.

Home…

The rundown, sorry excuse for a hovel was never a true home. Home implied family, love and happiness. There were never any of those feelings in that building. Not once Mother died.

The tumbler of firewhiskey in my hand was all but forgotten as I stared at the dead embers in the fireplace. It was the middle of June and the air in the living room was repressive, muggy and stale.

Why did I come back to that blasted house? I swore that I'd never cross that threshold again once I had made my escape, but that was a lifetime ago. I was a different person then. Not to mention that my father was still alive, drunk and raging mad, screaming about how useless I was, that I should have been killed at birth and how it was entirely my fault that Mother died.

If I listened to the groans of the house, I'd swear I could still hear him stomping around and ranting. My grip on the glass tightened. I hated that man. No. I loathed that vile, putrid, sorry excuse for a man.

The phone rang.

The tumbler shattered in my grip. "Bloody hell," I sighed heavily - not that I'd ever admit that I just did something so utterly human to anyone - thirty minutes back in that slum house and I had reverted to Muggle slang. I looked at the stinging, dripping, bloody mess that was my right palm and resisted the urge to close my hand into a fist out of sheer frustration.

The phone rang again.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself up from the threadbare armchair, mindful of my injury. I didn't fancy driving any slivers of glass further into my skin. Didn't it just figure that I'd injury my wand hand? I made my way to the kitchen sink and ran cold water over my right palm allowing a hiss of discomfort to escape my lips. No one was around to hear, so what did I care if I let my pain show?

The phone rang a third time.

Someone truly wanted to speak to me, but I couldn't imagine who that someone was, nor could I fathom wanting to speak to anyone that was desperate enough to contact me in such a mundane fashion. Perhaps it was a solicitor. That thought caused me to clench my teeth together. It bloody well better not be a damned solicitor or I won't be held responsible for my actions.

On the fourth ring, I managed to rip the handset from its cradle and snapped into the receiver, "_What_?"

"Severus?"

My back stiffened instinctively. No solicitor dared speak in such a fashion. They'd address me with my full name or simply with Mr. Snape, not by my given name. Besides, I knew that voice. Granted I wasn't sure _why_ I knew that voice exactly, but the rushed, whispered tone was unmistakable: fear, desperation, a plea. As a Death Eater I had heard it more times than I'd care to remember.

"Who is this?" I asked, for that damnable voice was tickling a long forgotten memory that was simply too evasive and I bloody well wanted answers. "What do you want?"

"Please," the female voice hitched, "Is this Severus Snape?"

"It is." My voice was clipped and cold. I hated telephones. I rarely used one when I was younger - no one wanted to speak to a gangly freak in oversized clothing, with greasy hair and crooked teeth - and in all honesty I had forgotten there _was_ a telephone in this hell hole of a house. "Now tell me who you are before I disconnect."

"Oh thank God!" The relief was apparent in her tone, but she still hadn't given me a name and I was seconds from hanging up on her in sheer frustration. My palm still stung and - if I wasn't mistaken - there was at least one sliver of glass imbedded in my skin. I stared at my hand, cradled the handset between my shoulder and ear and flicked on the kitchen light only distantly aware that the woman had continued speaking, "I didn't know who else to call. Lily," if it was at all possible my back stiffened even further at the mention of _that_ particular name and suddenly I knew exactly who was rambling at me, "had given me her phone number, saying that if I needed help that I could call her, but that was before she had to go into hiding. Before they disappeared she gave me your number stating you'd know how to contact her, only I'd never thought I'd be desperate enough to seek you out," her words continued to rush over each other in attempt to be heard and I could practically feel her hysteria building, "but of course with her being… well, I just-"

"Petunia," I had to interrupt the tirade or I'd never get my answers and really her idiotic rambling was giving me a headache, "You aren't making sense. _Why_ are you calling me?"

"It's… it's Harry!" She hissed the name into the receiver as if it pained her to do so, but once the name made its way past her lips other words came pouring out unbidden. "While I realize I should call the authorities, he's simply gone too far this time. Besides, I don't think our sort should be the ones to handle this situation. They simply wouldn't understand. I'm unsure how I'd explain everything and I quite honestly am at my wits end." There was a long pause as she dragged in a deep audible breath before finally admitting, "Severus, he's hurt. I need your help."

I'm almost certain that sentence pained her. Putting that thought aside, there was an issue that needed addressing. Harry. Petunia was calling about Harry. There was only one Harry that the two of us could possibly have in common. Harry Potter.

My eyes closed tightly until I could swear I saw stars dancing before my eyelids. Why did I answer the bloody telephone? I hissed as my palm closed over my injured palm and my eyes sprung open. I stared at the cut that began bleeding once again and I didn't realize I had responded to her, "Where are you?"

"Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging it's in Surrey," Petunia blurted, "How soon can you be here? Oh God, I don't think he's breathing!"

A few more choice expletives left me unbidden and I could almost hear her cringing on the other end. "Why didn't you say that to begin with?"

"He was still breathing when-"

"I'm on my way," I hung up the phone before Petunia could reply.

What more could she possibly say that I wanted to hear? I didn't have time to mollycoddle the woman. Harry wasn't breathing. The reality of what Petunia just said hit me like a ton of cauldrons and I stopped cold. My Lily's little boy was dead.

My Lily… was she ever truly mine? My heart ached at the thought of her. Five years, she's been dead for five years and the mere thought of her still brought me to my knees - metaphorically speaking, of course. I closed my eyes briefly; I didn't have time to fall apart. I needed to get to Surrey. I stared at my bloody palm, struggled with my wand in my shaking - another detail I'd deny if asked - left hand and gripped the slender wood tighter.

"Waddiwasi," I growled out and was relieved to hear the soft 'plink' of the glass as it smacked against the kitchen tile. "Episkey."

With a cursory glance at my clothing - slacks, a button down shirt and boots - I noted that they could very well pass for Muggle. I then washed my hands before I made my way to the edge of my wards.

Lily… I failed you once again.

I apparated to a back alley in Surrey and made my way to the bus station around the corner. I searched a map quickly for Little Whining and the nearest safe point to pop to next. There was a park mere blocks away from Privet Drive and I quickly slipped back into the alley and was gone in the blink of an eye.

I did my best not to run to the house. Why bother if he was already dead? Only what if he wasn't? What if Petunia was mistaken and Harry was only severely hurt? _Only_?

My steps quickened and I was soon striding down a street of identical houses, with neat yards and trimmed hedges. How could people live in such mundane surroundings?

Ten, eight, six…

My gait faltered as I spotted the house. It was insignificant and so utterly Muggle. Was that really where Lily's boy lived?

The downstairs lights within were shining brightly, beckoning me forward and I listened to its silent siren call. I knocked on the door and it was soon opened by none other than, "Petunia Evans."

"It's Dursley actually," as if her last name mattered at the moment. Petunia apparently agreed since she backed a step and motioned me inside. The woman was still very slender and shapely for her age, not that Petunia was very old by wizarding standards, but she wasn't a witch and for a twenty-eight year old woman she was still relatively easy on the eyes. I blinked at that thought and was relieved that it had only been a passing thought rather than having said it aloud. That was still Petunia Evans… Dursley, the spiteful little chit. Only she grew up. She was no longer the little girl with a shrill voice, hands on her hips and wagging an accusatory finger. She stood nearly as tall as I did, wearing a simple dress that came down to her calves, with dark blonde hair falling to her shoulders, large green eyes, biting her red painted lips. But the most disturbing fact that I couldn't seem to get past was the woman was barefoot with pink painted toes curling nervously. That was a rather telling bit of body language; it showed a vulnerability I hadn't expected to witness. Petunia gripped the door as she stared at me, "I can't believe you're here."

I bit back my vitriol response to the obvious and brushed past her. "Where is he?"

I stepped further into the short foyer and came to a stop at the entrance to the sitting room. There he was… Lily's boy was on the couch. Actually there were two boys on the sofa, but one was blonde and snoring softly so that child was most definitely not Harry. There was no mistaking the black mop of hair and when he looked up at me with his mother's green eyes filled with unshed tears my heart clenched.

I didn't move. I didn't speak to him. Questions were simply begging for answers and before I could voice a single one, Petunia was at my side doing the introductions gripping my arm, much as she had the door moments ago, "Severus, this is my nephew Harry. Harry this is Severus Snape, he's an old family friend. He's going to help us."

Harry's lip quivered as he mumbled a greeting, "Hullo, Sir."

My head snapped towards Petunia. I was still having difficulty breathing and I wasn't sure if I should trust what I saw before me, "You said he wasn't breathing."

"Don't be rude, Severus. You're supposed to say hello back when greeted," Petunia didn't continue with her reprimand when I growled impatiently at her. She simply gestured towards a large lump of a man sprawled in a corner and explained, "He isn't."

I stepped closer to the man and had to agree with her assessment. If my neck was twisted at such an odd angle, I seriously doubt I'd be breathing either. "Ah," I wasn't sure what else to say, but I did suddenly realize an important fact. Petunia didn't appear too upset about the death of the man. Hells, Harry looked more upset about the events that happened within that home, so the question that begged to be asked was, "What happened?" Only to be followed with the next obvious question of, "Who is he?"

"Accidental magic," Petunia declared in a resigned voice.

I noticed she hadn't answered my second question, but new tears fell at her words. The hitch of breath from the direction of the couch had caught our attention. Petunia skirted around me, sat between the two boys with her arms around Harry and comforted the small child. Harry buried his face in her shoulder, gripping at her dress with his small hands and I could just hear him stuttering out an apology while she cooed at him, rocking back and forth.

I frowned at the sight. Petunia Evans wasn't behaving anything like I remembered. She was a spiteful child, jealous of our magic and simply cruel to her younger sister. Yet there she was comforting Lily's child. I was missing something and I needed answers. Answers to questions like, "What brought on the accidental magic?"

Petunia sat back under the child's weight. Harry had apparently cried himself to sleep and was curled into her side. It was probably best, but I kept my opinion to myself. Obliviating a child that young was dangerous and I didn't know what more could possibly go wrong.

"When Vernon-"

"Vernon?"

"My… husband," Petunia clarified and I nodded for her to continue, "came home. He was apparently rather upset about something at work. He was ranting and drinking," my back stiffened, "I sent the boys upstairs and finished making supper. At the table during the meal he started in again about…" She hugged Harry closer and lowered her voice, "our situation. How worthless," her voice hitched, her words trailed off and she looked at me with pleading eyes for understanding.

I understood only too well. I sat down on the smaller sofa uninvited and she reached a hand out to me. It was an oddly endearing gesture, one very unlike our previous encounters as children where she would call Lily and me freaks, screaming at the top of her lungs that she would tell mummy on us for doing magic. Only that same girl was now a woman, a woman who was abused by her husband. Verbally or physically it didn't matter; abuse left scars and no one deserved those. I took her hand in mine and gripped it gently to lend her strength. Somehow she managed to continue, "Dudley, my son, piped up when there was a moment of silence between rants and told his father about the bit of magic that he managed. I told him not to tell, to keep it a secret, but my boy was simply too excited and…"

Harry shifted, Petunia's words trailed off again. She took her hand back, readjusted Harry so he laid his head on a pillow and once again looked at me. She then rose from the couch and motioned for me to follow, which I did. "Vernon was mortified when he heard that our son had done magic. Just hearing the word coming from that innocent boy's mouth was just too much for him and he immediately blamed Harry for contaminating _his_ son… his perfectly _normal_ child." I followed her into the kitchen where she busied herself by making tea. Her words were laced with bitterness and once she set the kettle on the stove, Petunia shook her head, "It was like watching us as kids: only with me yelling at you and Lily." Petunia leaned back against the counter and wrapped her slender arms around her middle, "I'm sorry I was so jealous, Severus. Listening to Vernon made me realize just how horrid I had been. Only Vernon is much worse, he back handed Harry. I thought he snapped the poor child's neck! I screamed for Dudley to run to his room, but Vernon was stomping towards him and that… that's when it happened."

Petunia looked over to where Vernon's body remained limp on the ground and shuddered. There was no point in clarifying what 'it' was. Obviously that was when one of the boys had a bout of accidental magic. It fit the pattern quite well. Accidental magic was emotionally driven and if a child felt threatened, their magic responded… sometimes violently.

I looked at the boys on the couch, my mind reeling with the implications of what happened and how I was going to 'fix' the problem. Magic was a wondrous thing, but it couldn't bring back the dead… at least not as a living functioning being. Necromancy existed, yes, but I'm rather sure Petunia didn't want Vernon back as an inferi. Not to mention that necromancy was darker magic than even I was comfortable with. "We have limited options, Petunia. We can call the authorities, but they'll want to know why we waited this long to call for them. I can transfigure the body and dispose of it, you'll list him as missing with the police."

"No! Not that," Petunia said immediately. She crossed the room to where I stood and gripped the front of my shirt in her shaking hands. Her green eyes were abnormally large, filled with fear, "I need to have access to his life insurance in order to survive. If he's listed as missing, there's no telling if I'll ever see that money." Her voice hitched then, "I must seem like a heartless woman."

"You're still in shock, Petunia. I'm sure you'll mourn in due time." The whole situation seemed rather surreal. I found myself comforting the woman. I hadn't even realized I moved, let alone that I that I held her. Petunia was in my arms, clinging to my shirt as if I were her lifeline.

A bitter laugh escaped her and my eyebrow rose at the odd sound. Petunia burrowed into me. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling - awkward to be sure, just not unpleasant - but it was quite intimate and rather inappropriate under the circumstances. Her husband's dead body was in the next room for cripes sake.

I ignored that odd little fact, devoting my thoughts to the living instead. I rubbed small circles on her back and Petunia sighed softly, her breath fanning my skin warmly, "Mourn him? Not bloody likely. I wanted out of this marriage years ago, but he was so controlling and I had nowhere to go…" She looked towards the living room where the boys were napping, "and I have the children… how will I take care of them?"

I knew I'd regret it the moment the words passed my lips, but heaven help me the offer was out before I could stop it, "Come with me. I will take care of you and the boys."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Every so often I am waylaid by stupid writer's block. It takes a random short one-shot story (or two) in order to loosen up the gray matter enough to be able to continue with things that I am currently writing or should be writing (i.e. Vanquisher, SDDJ, etc.).

Ironically this isn't even remotely what I had thought I was going to write, but the story took on a life of its own and this is the results. I hope you enjoyed it.


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